


A Whimper

by TheGirlWhoHeldOn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 8x10 Torn and Frayed, Angst, Briefly Fallen Castiel, M/M, Memory Alteration, One-Sided Relationship, Pain, Sacrifice, Self-Hatred, Spoilers, pondering, so much pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-20
Updated: 2013-01-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 06:58:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/647831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWhoHeldOn/pseuds/TheGirlWhoHeldOn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events of 'Torn and Frayed', Castiel decides he must protect the Winchesters at whatever costs...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Whimper

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to lie; this is my first Supernatural fic. I was not satisfied with the ending of 'Torn and Frayed' so BAM! My first story :) So no, I would not mind getting a review to tell me if I was crap at it and getting it all wrong or something. PS My inspiration for this story was 'The Scientist' by Coldplay--for a better experience you can listen to it during :)

Castiel stared at the water in front of him, the waves (once soothing) now just making his pounding head hurt even more. But he stayed in place, knowing…knowing despite everything said, it was deserved. Especially now, now…with those terrible memories.

They kept coming. No matter how much he pleaded, memories kept unraveling in his head, now that he’s contacted the source.

Apparently he’s been betraying his friends for weeks without even having the decency to remember.

He couldn’t face them. Not now. He simply couldn’t look into their eyes and not hate himself. It was impossible.

And now, with Heaven no longer home, he had nowhere to go. Nowhere to rest.

A pity since Samandriel deserves a funeral made for the Gods.

He let out a sigh and stared at the forest ground beneath him. It would have to do. It wouldn’t be that hard to bury Samandriel. It would be easy with his Grace aiding him.

But with an inexplicable need, he instead fell to his knees and began to dig with his bare hands. Dirt went underneath his nails and the ground was so hard and rough; overall tough to dig into. It was harsh and his vessel was displeased with the shots of pain he’d occasionally get, but whenever he felt the need to give up he’d just look over to his left.

He’d look over and see the dead eyes of Samandriel and continue to work with even more fervor.

Castiel knew that the dullness in Samandriel’s eyes just indicated that the vessel with empty and lifeless. Hollow and dead. But…he knew that the sight also indicated the lifelessness of the angel himself and that thought…that thought made it that much harder to dig.

It took hours.

In the end his fingertips were bleeding profusely and body shook so hard his bones practically rattled. The hole however was perfect; just the right width and length, no worms or any other type of bug crawling around (Castiel hand picked every single one out). The hole was shallow, but not because the pain in his fingers became too much. It was because…

Castiel remembered Dean telling him something once. A human custom as it were. They were on a hunt a year or two ago when Dean did something called ‘teasing’ to Sam. Something about being frightened by the darkness. Sam did not care for it.

Later on, Dean told Cas that Sam when he was a young child was frightened by the dark. To protect his brother he bought a light with all of his allowance and poured salt everywhere. From then on, Sam was safe and eventually was scared of the dark no more.

Now, he did not know much of Samanandriel towards the end of his life, but he assumed that it was entirely possible (especially with the torture) that he might’ve been scared of the dark. Knowing it would get darker with every layer of dirt, Castiel decided it was only fair to save his younger brother the fright and only put a couple of layers on him.

(Castiel knew that his brother did not live in his vessel anymore therefore would not care if he was surrounded by darkness. If he was right, he was most likely in Oblivion right now…which made him want to comfort his ‘brother’ even more)

~~~::~~~

Castiel sat side by side with the grave, the dirt long ago returned to its rightful place and his fingers no longer bleeding. He was staring at the water once more.

He had been thinking. Thinking for so very long.

He was trying so very hard.

He had realized long ago (or what felt like long ago) that his very purpose is to protect his charge and his charge’s younger brother. That is what he had to do now, if past events were any indication of it.

(He’d already lost Samandriel, his good brother. Lost him to Naomi and himself. He couldn’t bear losing the brother he cared for—again—and the charge he had grown to love. Just the thought that he was capable of this made him want to die)

He had reached a conclusion on how to do so four days ago, beside this very grave on this very beach. He had reached it…but couldn’t except it.

He couldn’t.

He was selfish.

Because of that, he hated himself even more.

For days he sat like this, pondering. No rest, no consumption, hardly ever blinking. But no alternatives could be reached. He even tried to pray to his missing Father, begging Him to help him find another way.

He didn’t answer.

So now, as he breathed deeply and tried to control the raging emotions inside him, he realized he had no choice.

He had to do this and save the brothers…and in the process torture himself.

But he had no choice in the matter. Not anymore. He might have in the past but he had been a fool, and now he had to repent.

~~~::~~~

It was not hard to find the motel room the boys were staying in. They almost made it too easy; all he had to do was go through some news clippings left at their last place of rest. After that, he simply visited any nearby hotels who might host them. Within the first couple of hotels, the Impala was finally spotted.

Castiel began to shake when he saw the car. This implicated that…it was almost time. He could no longer pretend that he wasn’t happening. He could no longer pray a new solution would come to him.

It was going to happen, whether he wanted it to or not.

He took a deep breath (he had seen many humans in distressing situations do this and it seemed to make them calmer. It just made Castiel want to puke), made an educated guess and with a flutter of his wings he attempted to fly into the room marked 12…

Only for there to be a blockage. _Odd._ Castiel thought, frowning and tilting his head. Why was he blocked? And then he realized…

_They’re cautious of me now because of my behaviors a few days ago. Understandable._

So with another sigh he walked to the door slowly.

He almost had to force himself to move forward, his resolve crumbling when he began to hear the brothers talking on the inside. Sarcastically and jokingly like they do when they’re carefree. Cas paused just a few steps from the door, memories assaulting him from times past; memories of car trips, strange prayers, references he did not understand…so many memories. So many… _beautiful_ memories.

He almost fled.

But he didn’t.

He _couldn’t._

He did not matter anymore; all that mattered was...Dean and Sam…

He hoped the love he was taught by them (Dean) would give him strength. He went to the door and tried not to hesitate before he knocked.

_Knock, knock, knock._

He hoped that Dean taught him the right custom.

The 'knocking' was followed by a short pause and for a few moments he wondered if he had learned correctly; that was until a familiar voice called, “Who is it?”

 _Dean._ The familiar rush of warmth and the emotion he had associated with the word ‘love’ filled him at the voice. All he wanted to bask in Dean’s smile and try to make him laugh. But…that wasn’t what he came here for. He wished desperately it were.

“I need to speak with you Dean.” Cas called, hoping it was correct response.

“…Cas?” Dean asked, walking towards the door if the sound of footsteps were correct.

“Yes.” He answered. As he did so, he began to frown. Something was wrong, his…hands. They were practically convulsing now. Why…?

The door opened suddenly, startling the angel from his thoughts. And there Dean stood, as handsome as ever. Any amusement Castiel had sensed from before was gone now, giving away to a stony look. But…after observing Dean he could swear he could see emotions Dean said were called relief and concern. Interesting.

“Cas? How did you find us?” Dean asked, staying within the boundaries of the angel symbol they put on the hotel wall.

“That is of no importance. I desperately need to talk to you Dean.” Cas urged. He needed to get the brothers outside...

“Dean…” Sam warned from within the hotel room, looking cautiously at the pair.

“Sammy…” Dean said back, looking towards his brother.

And then, almost like they learned how to mind read, they seemed to have a conversation without saying a word. With what looked like a series of nods and strange faces, the two talked about the current situation.

No matter how many times it happened, it still confused Castiel to no end. How could humans do such a thing? Social cues were already hard enough to understand, but looks too? Humanity is a strange species, but a beautiful one all of the while.

Meanwhile, the conversation seemed to decide nothing, as Dean still looked conflicted and Sam looked almost frightened now. _You should be._

“Dean, I want to speak to you of my…poor actions as of late. Seeing as I cannot go in there and I do not want to have this conversation where all can hear, maybe doing it a little ways away would be best. I need help Dean.” Castiel practically begged, using all of his knowledge of Dean Winchester to convince him to come outside. It worked. Dean sighed and immediately stepped outside, Sam quickly following behind (despite the distrust, he would not let The Righteous Man get hurt).

The three walked to the forest’s edge together before Castiel turned around.

“Dean…”

…He didn’t know what to say.

His last words to Dean Winchester, the man he loved, the man he had given everything up for and messed everything up for, and he had no idea what to say. No words, English or Enochian, seemed to fit into the emotions he wanted to express.

 _I’m sorry_ didn’t cover it. _I have no choice_ didn’t cover it. _I love you_ didn’t even BEGIN to cover it. So what was he to do?

Nothing he supposed.

So instead of saying any last words he quickly put his fingers to his friend’s forehead. And just like that, he was unconscious and crumpled onto the gravel.

“DEAN!” Sam cried, rushing to his brother’s side, “Cas! What did you—“ Predictable.

Sam was unconscious and lay beside his brother within seconds.

“I’m sorry.” Castiel finally whispered, words finally coming to him.

And with the billowing of his coat he was kneeling between the two. He had to do this quickly; otherwise…someone might catch on and try to stop him. Stop the inevitable. Stop the heartbreak.

But they must know…it must happen to someone.

Someone must mourn the loss of a person who was called friend. It should be him. He who deserves so much pain. They did not.

Hoping to finally bring them peace, he put two fingers on both of their foreheads, gathered up as much Grace as he could and prayed for this to work. It had to. Castiel took another deep breath (he still didn’t understand the concept but instinct told him to do it anyways) and then entered their minds with ease.

_I apologize my friends—I know how you hate people entering your mind…It’s for the best, you must understand._

He tried to ignore the feelings and the light and the darkness in each and focused on something else, something far more valuable to him; Their memories.

 _Oh_ their memories!

So filled with emotions within themselves!

But no—it was not his job to sift through them and feel as they do—he has a job!

And so he came to the latest memory in both the boys, the last thing they remembered (it was of the laughter before Castiel came, the joking in the hotel room from before. He hoped they had more happiness like this in the future). He sifted into the past until he finally found himself and then began the process that made him want to throw up his intestines;

He began to erase.

He destroyed _everything._

He killed the concern after Cas killed Samandriel. He slaughtered the relief of when Cas was finally found. He exterminated the gratitude of a boy who no longer saw Lucifer wherever he looked. He assassinated the pain of the death of a friend. He massacred the betrayal of a best friend. He murdered the happiness of a first piece of pie. He put down the shock and laughter of a drunken angel. He butchered the respect of a being whom gave up everything, all for Dean. And finally, finally…

For the first time since the beginning of his ordeal, Cas choked.

His and Dean’s first meeting.

This was it.

This was the moment he was going to lose everything.

The wonderment. The confusion. The prejudice. The utter awe and attraction and even…respect. He had to wipe it all away.

He _had_ to.

_Plop._

Cas’ concentration was broken and he looked down at his thigh. A bright drop of blood was there, showing a ragged man who had the world on his shoulders.

Who was crying. 

When did he start crying?

His left hand, finished with Sam, left the boy’s forehead and wiped at the blood. There was a surprising amount of it. Apparently he’d been crying for some time now. His cheeks were full of blood.

Savage.

Monster.

_“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

The words said so long ago were now parallel to him now. Oh the irony. But the thing was…

Dean deserved to be saved. He truly did.

Which was what Cas was going to do. He was going to grip Dean tight once more and save him one last time.

With an agonized cry he wiped the memory away.

~~~::~~~

Castiel wanted to lie down, weep and pray and have Dean hold him, but…his job was not finished.

Now with two clean slates he shoved the new memories (the same memories except he was no longer a part of the story) into the men’s’ minds. And thankfully, with just enough Grace to spare, he protected them from the pain of that shove. Which meant… If their memories serve correctly, Castiel had never hurt them. Not once. He’d always know, but now…now it was his burden to carry and his alone. They’d never have to pay for his mistakes ever again.

~~~::~~~

And then…then it was over. The memories were in their rightful place, they didn’t hurt or die in the process and

…and with a tiny cry Cas’ Grace left him, the strength of the transaction too much for It to bear.

That was fine.

That just meant he’d never have a chance to hurt the Winchester boys again.

He looked down at said Winchester boys, and after he had made sure Sam was alright (if Sam mattered the most to Dean, then Sam mattered the most to Cas), he looked over at Dean. The man he literally gave everything for. His family, his life (on multiple occasions) and finally…his Grace.

He did not regret a single thing.

The man beneath him with beautiful; when he was an angel he could see that through the bright soul shining through the man. Obviously, physically, the man was handsome but… It was The Righteous Man, the brother, the savior, that Cas Fell for.

And that is why he had to let him go.

Because Castiel ruins everything he touches.

~~~::~~~

Of course Cas stayed behind, hoping to catch a glimpse of the brothers before he began to go Father knows where.

A part of him prayed as he kneeled behind a large rock that it had all been for naught. That maybe, just maybe, it had not worked and Dean would call Cas and ask him what the hell happened.

It was not meant to be though. Because when the boys woke up instead of cursing out Castiel and hunting for their phones, they stared at each other quizzically and tried to figure out what on Earth happened to them. As they shot theories at each other, Cas was not mentioned once.

And so it was on that chilly night, somewhere in the United States of America, with the boys laughing as they entered their room and Cas hiding behind a rock, Castiel’s world ended.

Not with a bang, but a whimper.

**Author's Note:**

> The last sentence obviously doesn't belong to me; the sentence belongs to TS Eliot


End file.
